Muggle Mom
by SnitchBitch
Summary: GASP! An original HP fanfic? Yes! Follow the journey of Gypsy, the single mother of a witch, as she tries to find a place in her daughter's world...
1. Chapter 1

**Muggle Mom**

By: SnitchBitch

Summary: The parents of muggle-born witches and wizards don't get nearly enough credit. Along with worrying about drugs, sex, and alcohol, they have to worry about their kid accidentally blowing up the house, or being kidnapped by dark wizards, or…

Author's Note: My fanfiction policy is to write a story I'd want to read--the perfect balance of humor, romance, and intrigue. I'd love some reviews, but know that flames will be used to form the fires that will forge the weapons that will be used to torture the flamers! (manic gleam leaves eyes) Ahem…anyway…between school, sports, and community service, I actually have a pretty busy life. I will update when I can, but if those updates are ever few and far between, know that I won't abandon this story (I hate it when authors do that)!

Disclaimer: If I owned it, Harry wouldn't be emo, Ron would hit purberty, and Hermione would tear her nose out of _Hogwarts, A History_ long enough to snog Draco. Eh? EH? Nope…guess it's not mine. Damn.

**Chapter 1: Rare Show of Emotion**

I, Gypsy Weasley, come from a long line of women with strange names. My mother, Spirit Devon, my grandmother, Celestial McCarthy, and my great-grandmother, Carrot Conroy, all illustrate this point. I'm not sure about my great-great-grandmother's name, but if she vengefully named her daughter "Carrot," I can only imagine she must have carried quite a formidable forename.

Now, looking at my newborn daughter, I finally understood what each must have felt when choosing to christen their daughters with such awkward titles. This feeling consumed me—the feeling that a regular name just wasn't enough; "Catherine," or "Mary" could never even begin to describe the tiny, yet immense bundle I held.

"Something with a 'y' in it…" I murmured, kissing her forehead softly, so as not to wake her from her slumber.

I looked up at my husband, Charlie, and smiled at him. He stared at our daughter with the look of a man who'd found the grail, and, looking back at her, I knew that we had.

He cleared his throat after a pause. I knew he was uncomfortable with so much emotion—it's one of the things I loved about him. Charlie was a real man—strong. The type of guy I could be the woman around. He embodied chivalry in every sense.

When I was still looking for "the one," I couldn't standing sitting through too-long dates with guys who wanted me to comfort them when they cried because their latte that morning had been a bit on the cold side.

Just when I had lost hope in the male gender on a whole, I ran into Charlie. I know, you'll roll your eyes, but yes, it was in the literal sense. Straight out of an old slapstick movie, I was walking down the street with my nose in a book and suddenly I'm lying on top of this incredibly handsome red-headed English guy who, before I can apologize, has me back on my feet and is asking me if I'm hurt. He then insisted on treating me to an ice-cream (if one more _sensitive_ guy had tried to woo me via Starbucks, I would have screamed, so you can imagine how nice it was to be offered ice cream instead), and after I discovered that he too had a passion for pineapple sherbet, I knew it was going to work out.

When he told me six months later that he loved me, I believed him. It was a big difference from when Starbucks Boyfriend #6 told me he loved me, for a man not prone to bursts of emotion, when finally expressing some, seems a lot more serious than a man who confesses his undying devotion two minutes into your first conversation.

I'd only seen Charlie cry once, and that was when I asked about his family, and learned that he was an orphaned only child. I held him while he cried, and after a moment he gruffly apologized and returned to being my Charlie—the big, strong man in my life.

Feminists must loathe me.

Don't get me wrong, I loved the opportunities we as women have in America! I had a job—every day I trudged to the local high school and taught biology! But I liked to come home and cook dinner for my husband and clean up while he read the paper. I liked him to be protective of me; I liked him to hold me when I cried; and most of all, I liked it when he did show a bit of emotion, because it was so very powerful.

Now was one of those times.

"Can I hold her?" He asked, his voice cracking a bit.

I smiled, and carefully handed her over.

He looked down at her, and she opened her eyes for him. Deep blue eyes.

"You won the bet." He said, looking down at me and showing me the roguish grin I fell in love with.

I smile back. "I know."

Everyone in my family had dark, dark, dark, dark brown hair. Everyone in his, apparently, since I'd never met anyone, was crowned with flaming red. Our daughter took after my side, with dark curls winging from her head in every direction.

He heaved a dramatic sigh, and I giggled. "You know what this means, right? You get the ultimate power and final say in the naming of our daughter." He gave me his best serious look, perhaps the one that'd gotten him so far in corporate America in such a short time, and I attempted to mimic it back at him.

"I accept this grave burden."

His expression lightened. "What about Ginevra?"

I frowned.

He tried again. "Molly?"

"No…neither of those names can sum up the gloriousness that is…"

He looked a bit hurt, but then stared back at our daughter and nodded, clutching her a bit tighter.

"…Mystic."

"Mystic." He tried. "Mystic Weasley." He smiled. "Can I call her Missy?"

I grinned at his acceptance, but frowned when the doctor walked in.

"Alright, Dad. Mommy needs her rest. You can come back tomorrow at seven a.m." With a smile, he turned and left the room so that we could say our goodbyes. Charlie made a face at his back, and I laughed.

"Dad." He said. "It sounds so…" He searched for the word.

"Right." I finished for him.

He smiled and handed me Mystic. He kissed both of us softly on our foreheads and looked back once more at us at the door.

"Drive carefully." I said, for the streets of New York City, even this late, could kill.

He smiled one more time. God, he was so happy that night.

"I love you, Gypsy."

I laughed. There was my chance and I laughed. "Gosh, Charlie, didn't you hear the doctor? I need my rest." I said sarcastically.

He made a show of walking very slowly, and blew me one more kiss from the door. I laughed at his antics, and then he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Revolution**

I felt really disconcerted the next morning.

It was odd first of all to wake without Charlie watching me with his deep blue eyes (the same eyes as our daughter!). It was odder when I realized that it was 9 in the morning, for he was therefore not being kept away by the rules of the hospital, but something else.

About an hour and a half later I was buckling my daughter into the car seat we had bought a month ago.

Charlie was supposed to be driving me home…he was supposed to take this car home last night, and bring it to pick me up in the morning. I was glad I had my extra keys.

Why would he have taken a cab?

I pushed my way through the perpetual New York City traffic and found above our apartment building a really _weird_ sight—someone had projected some sort of green hologram into the sky. It was eerie—a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth.

"It's OK, Mystic. I told your dad that we'd have problems when the creepy new-age techno people moved in upstairs." I cooed at my daughter, trying to comfort myself more than her.

Holding her tightly, I stepped out of the elevator and onto my floor. I walked with great trepidation towards my door, and fumbled with the key. I couldn't open it. Not because I didn't want to, but because there was something holding it shut. I pushed with my shoulder, still clutching Mystic, and it finally gave.

I screamed when I saw the shocked look on Charlie's lifeless face.

"And you couldn't open the door? The body was blocking the door?" The officer asked for the fourth time.

I nodded, my eyes on Mystic, rocking her gently. Shouldn't people have been making me coffee or something and not interrogating me? I was getting indignant. I wanted to be angry with the officer—anything to keep from thinking of what he had said: _"the body"._

"It doesn't make sense." The officer muttered. He began thinking out loud, and despite my attempts not to listen, I couldn't help but do so. "All of the windows locked from the inside, and the door blocked by the body…he didn't die of natural causes…but there was no way for the murderer to escape. Lady," I could only imagine he was talking to me, so I made eye contact with the despicable man. "I can only assume that it was suicide."

I stood up as quickly as I could, clutching Mystic to me tightly. "It was not." I said this very coldly, and the officer looked at me with something akin to pity.

"I'll put down 'heart attack' on the report." He said, as if this was very generous of him. He stood up, stretched, and left.

And I was alone.

Well, not really.

Mystic wiggled in my arms a bit. I looked down at her, and my face twisted.

I suddenly wished that I'd lost the bet—that she'd had red hair like her father.

I sank into the chair and began to cry. My tiny daughter didn't make a fuss—she hadn't cried since her entrance into the world. Instead she stretched out her tiny arms against me—as close as she could get to a hug, I imagine.

The child held the mother as she cried.

I imagine some painter might've been inspired if he'd seen us, but from that point on, there was no third person.

Just the two of us.

Always.

Mystic was an extraordinary child. She never cried. Literally. She almost always wore a smile, and if she fell or otherwise hurt herself, I was always more upset than her.

I threw myself completely into her life. She came to school with me and lay in a basket under my desk while I taught. I would hold her during my free periods, and I never felt the need to do anything else. Just holding Mystic was a top-priority activity--I enjoyed it that much.

She was tiny for her age, and when the doctors made suggestions, I ignored them. There was nothing wrong with her—just too much right.

As she grew, I recognized more and more of her father in her—her eyes, obviously, and the sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Most of all, her smile, which she wore so often that I could never forget Charlie, even if I tried to.

I never tried.

**Review Replies**

Cybell: Thank you so much for reviewing (and even reading!) such a fledgling story! I'm glad it made you laugh…sorry it made you sad, and hope that this chapter wasn't _very_ sad…it will get funnier, I assure you! Thanks again!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: I'll See You in My Dreams**

I was making brownies. It was Mystic's third birthday, and I was making her brownies. She was sitting in the living room where I could see her over the kitchen counter, reading.

It only slightly bothered me that she could read, but not talk yet. She hadn't grown much, either, and was dwarfed by the other children. She seemed to get along with them well enough, though, and this time of day she often sat on the sidewalk with her friend, Gloria, and drew with chalk. Gloria's mother and I would take turns watching the girls.

"You want to go down with Gloria now?" I asked, pouring the batter into a pan.

She nodded, and I bent over to slip the pan into the oven.

I looked up, just in time to see Mystic jump out of the window of our third story apartment.

I think my heart stopped.

When it began to beat again, it was tattooing a rapid rhythm against my ribs, and I ran over to the window, looking down, knowing what I'd find…

And not finding it.

Mystic was drawing a giraffe in pink chalk, and Gloria was giving it wings. Mystic looked up, grinned, and waved at me.

I waved back weakly and sat down.

I figured that I must have been going insane.

It seemed that there were more and more…_strange_ things happening to Mystic.

I tried to push the thoughts away, but after that display, I knew that I could no longer ignore it.

She was tiny. Unnaturally small. And she hadn't begun to talk. Yet, she could understand and even read perfectly. And how she had _never_ cried…

But those could all be explained by _some_ scientific rationalization. It was the _other_ things that worried me.

The fact that sometimes, when I asked Mystic if she wanted something—a glass of lemonade, a book, a cookie--, she'd nod, and I'd turn my back to retrieve the item. When I turned around again, she'd already have it.

I felt a tear slither down my cheek as I wished that Charlie was there for me to talk to.

I quickly redirected my thoughts back to the problem at hand. Deranged thoughts began running through my head. Was this like _The Exorcist_? Was I going to have to stretch my daughter out on a stone altar and decapitate her, or something?

I shook my head, and went to check on the brownies.

That night, I crept into Mystic's room and looked at her. Her tiny form seemed to be engulfed by the twin bed, and looking at the calm smile on her tiny lips, I knew that whatever my daughter was, it wasn't evil.

I tip-toed over to her, and carefully curled up around her. She opened her eyes drowsily, gave me one of her dazzling smiles, and returned to her dreams.

As I fell asleep, I felt as if my problems were being absorbed by my daughter.

_I was in a meadow. It was a beautiful spring day. Poofy white clouds, glorious sun…the works. I was sitting on a red and white-checkered cloth, sipping lemonade and watching Mystic leaping around trying to catch grasshoppers._

_Suddenly a form emerged from the trees surrounding the clearing I was centered in._

_I couldn't make out who it was, because the figure was walking from the direction of the sun._

_When he got close enough to make out, my breath hitched. "Charlie." I murmured._

_My mind almost returned to consciousness at this point out of strict shock. In the three years since his death, I'd never once dreamed of him. I once heard that if you think about something too much, you won't dream about it. Likewise, if you see something just in passing, it'll play a major role in your dream. I knew that I had thought about Charlie that day…this seemed so real._

"_Hey Gyp!" He said. I realized that I had stood up and put down my lemonade, and he took advantage of my position to bring me into a big hug, pick me up, and spin me around._

"_I've missed you so much." He murmured into my ear as he set me down. I found myself utterly speechless._

"_Daddy!" Mystic spoke in my dream. She launched herself at her father, and he spun her around too. _

"_Go play—we'll talk later. I need to talk with your mother now." Mystic nodded readily and ran off again._

_I sank down to the ground. _

"_Gypsy…I don't know how much you know."_

_I looked up at him. "Charlie, I…I feel more lucid than I've ever felt in a dream before. As in, there aren't giant ketchup bottles floating around, and I know that it's a dream. And I've never dreamt about you. I don't know what's going on."_

"_Right…so you don't know. Let me explain. First of all, you should know that this is real. Sort of. You see—no, I'll get there later. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" He sat down next to me, and I leaned into him out of an old habit. Out of the same habit, he put his arm around me. "I've missed this so much." He murmured, before continuing. "Gypsy, I didn't graduate from Oxford; I didn't even go to university. I attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." _

_Now I knew that it was a dream, for despite my better judgment, a part of me had wanted to believe Charlie when he had told me that this meeting was a reality. _

_I decided to continue to enjoy his touch, so I stroked his arm. "Of course you did." I said softly._

_He sighed, and ran his hand through his hand, frustrated. "No, Gyp, you don't get it. I'm serious. I was a wizard. There's a whole other world on earth—one of magic, with witches and wizards."_

"_Charlie, you were a CEO." I said calmly, reaching up to stroke his cheek._

_He leaned into my touch, and for a moment, I thought I'd succeeded in dissipating this ridiculous talk. Then I felt him shake his head. "Gypsy." He said my name firmly, as he used to when he was trying to tell me something important. "I graduated from Hogwarts, and then I worked in Romania, with dragons." Riiiiiight. "The wizarding world was then torn by war. I was on the good side. Then, someone very close to me was killed. I foreswore the war and wizardry, and severed all of my connections by just up and moving to America one day. I got a job, ran into a beautiful muggle, and it seemed as though I was successful in separating myself from my old life. Then, the night of our daughter's birth, I was getting into the car when the people on the other side of the war found me. I apparated—um…_teleported_, if you will,myself back to our apartment, and they followed and killed me."_

I figured that my subconscious had been taking illicit substances behind my back.

"_Gypsy, I know you don't believe me, but in the morning, you're going to be holding some directions. I need you to them with Mystic. For her safety. If you want more proof, look in my desk, and you'll find a piece of wood broken in half—that was my wand."_

_I was starting to believe some of this insanity—Charlie sounded so sincere. I turned my head and kissed him, and into that kiss we put all of the passion and longing that had built up from three years of separation._

_We pulled back, and at this point I was completely immersed in the dream. Nothing my subconscious came up with could come close to that kiss. I believed it. _

"_Where do you-" I grappled for a word. Obviously 'live' wouldn't suit. "--stay now?" I asked him._

"_Here." He replied, tucking one of my loose curls behind my ear. "I'm waiting for you two to join me—then I'll be in heaven." He smiled._

_His smile, of course, reminded me of Mystic, and I looked over at my daughter. _

"_She visits every night." He said, noticing the direction of my gaze. _

"_Does she talk to you?" I asked, trying to remember if I'd heard her say 'Daddy' at the beginning of my dream._

"_Yes. She tells me everything. I always want to know more, though." He kissed me lightly. "She's a special witch. I'm sure Dumbledore will be able to tell you about the nature of her powers." _

"_She's a witch too?" I asked faintly._

_Charlie's brow furrowed. "There's so much I should have told you."_

And I woke up.

I sat straight up. I looked down at my daughter, and seeing the complacent smile that adorned her features, wondered if she was still in the field with her father.

I shook my head. That was nonsense! It was impossible! What the hell had I put in those brownies?

I got up and walked into the living room, and realized that I was clutching something.

I opened my hand and saw, in Charlie's unmistakable penmanship, directions to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

**Author's Note:**

Hey! I _really_ liked this chapter, because it confronts something that's always bothered me: muggle parents' reactions to early signs in magical children! I mean, if I had a kid who started pulling a Neville and bouncing down the street, you could bet your skittles I'd be on the phone with animal control before he bounced back into the house! Well, in any case, thank you so much for reading this; it's an idea that I've been toying with for a while, and as I think the story is rather original, it's really special to me! Thanks again!

**Review Replies:**

TheDarkLadyOfRavenclaw-Thank you so much for reviewing! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! It always bothered me too that there seemed to be only the one side with muggle-born students. In fact, it really seems that they get the really bad end of the stick--take Hermione, for example! She's _never_ at her parent's house, but instead almost always with Ron and Harry! I always felt bad for those dentists...Well, thanks again for reviewing!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Impetuosity**

_It might have been a bit of a rash decision_, I thought, as I watched my daughter play with her cheerios on our transatlantic flight.

That morning, I had quit my job after the principal of the school I taught at refused to realize that my late husband visiting me in a dream and telling me to go to Scotland was a perfectly good reason for my immediate departure from my pedagogic duties.

Now, looking back on it, I understand that I might have seemed a bit of a crazy woman, but at that point, I wasn't really thinking.

I found the broken pieces of Charlie's wand in his desk, and with the directions I was sure he'd written, I was wholly convinced.

I couldn't think of the implications of his words, but knew only that I had to get to Scotland to meet the person Charlie had mentioned—Dumblemore, I thought it was.

So, I left my apartment, job, friends, and life. I packed four bags, gave the landlord my notice, and left him the profits of the furnishings in my apartment.

He was happy with that—we had a nicely decorated apartment.

I think I may have acted so quickly so that I wouldn't have been able to turn around—wouldn't have had anything to turn around to.

But as I stood in the airport, in a strange new country and with a strange new life ahead of me, I realized that I'd left nothing behind.

After Charlie my world had become Mystic; teaching had lost any enjoyment it had held for me, and I kept my friends out of habit rather than affection. Our home was a home only because my daughter made it hers, and now she needed to move onto a new one.

Mystic needed to move onto a new world, and I'd be damned if I didn't move with her.

As I held her tiny hand, I knew that I held everything, and as she flashed me Charlie's smile, I knew that I had made the right decision.

I took the crumpled piece of paper with Charlie's directions out of my pocket and read the next step.

_King's Cross Station_.

I looked down at Mystic, and seeing her yawn, knew that King's Cross would have to wait.

I found us a nice hotel, and we both fell asleep quickly.

In the middle of the night I bolted up.

What about money! How much would a boarding school _cost_?

I tip-toed over to the desk and turned the light on dim, using the hotel-provided pen and paper to estimate how long we could live with Mystic attending an expensive school. I used the average cost of United States college tuition as my estimate for the cost of Hogwarts (although I imagined it would be quite a bit lower, it never hurt to round up, did it?), and found, thankfully, that Charlie's smart financial planning (the fact that he had been the CEO of a major company didn't hurt either!) had left us with enough for us to live comfortably while Mystic attended boarding school _and_ graduated from whatever college witches attended.

I could continue to teach, of course, and she would get a job—

What did witches do?

The image of a cloaked figure flying on a broomstick, muttering lines from Macbeth came to mind, and I decided that I'd better save my fiscal planning until after I'd spoken with Dumblemore.

I turned off the light and returned to my bed.

I couldn't sleep though.

I made myself wait until the clock read 6 before I woke up a drowsy Mystic.

"Come on, dear. You can sleep on the train. We have to get up early to make you look beautiful for Dumblemore."

After we had both bathed and dried off, I faced another crisis.

What did witches wear?

Charlie had seemed to dress well enough when he was pretending to be…human? What had he called me in the dream…muggle, wasn't it?

That would have to do.

We would obviously have to dress as muggles, as I hadn't packed the cloaks and hats and cauldrons and broomsticks we always kept in the hall closet.

I laughed at my own joke.

Regaining my sense of humor after a shock was always a good sign.

I took a deep breath and looked at my daughter.

"You want to dress up today?" I asked. She nodded exuberantly, for Mystic loved feeling pretty—a trait she'd inherited from me—and I decided it wouldn't hurt if we both looked our best for meeting Dumblemore, whom I'd at that point come to think of as omniscient.

I dressed Mystic in a pretty blue dress. It was dark blue velvet above the waist, and had short sleeves, as little girls' dresses ought to. It had a lighter blue skirt of flowy material. I loved when Mystic wore this dress, because she would spin around so that her skirt would poof out, and she'd always laugh.

She wore white tights and shiny black shoes, and her dark hair was pulled back with a blue ribbon.

I stood back to examine the effect.

"Spin around." I ordered, and she complied.

She looked ready to soften a statue's heart, and I smiled. She was a beautiful child, and if Dumblemore had any woes about helping us, Mystic would easily convince him otherwise.

Seeing my approval, her little hands pushed me on the bed.

I smiled, knowing that it was my turn.

In a house with only two girls, you had to expect that clothes and make up would be a necessity.

Mystic and I would dress each other, and the result was always quite stunning, if I do say so myself. She had unbelievable taste for a three-year-old, and I had often wondered if she'd go into fashion.

Now I wondered if it was part of the whole "magic" deal.

Her tiny form rummaged through my suitcase, and at last she emerged with a victorious smile and some clothes I hadn't seen for years.

I quirked my eyebrow at her. "Sweetie…" I started. Normally she dressed me very conservatively, and while this outfit wasn't promiscuous, it hadn't been my style since Charlie had passed away.

Been killed.

I shook my head. It wasn't time yet to process that one.

Mystic frowned, and dragged the outfit over to me.

I recognized the glint of determination in her eyes—the same glint that had so often shone from her father's.

I sighed, knowing that according to the rules of our little game, I had to wear what she selected (it had been a horrid month the year before when she was convinced that purple and puce made the perfect match!).

I put on the tight black skirt that fell just below my knees, and donned the black leather boots that rose to just above them. I then pulled the top over my head. It was a royal blue sleeveless sweater with a turtleneck collar.

I pulled my hair back in a black clasp, and looked in the mirror. The first thing I saw was my daughter smiling at me, and if she spoke, I knew she'd have said "I told you so."

I looked…hot. It had only been four years since I'd won Charlie, and I saw now that not much had changed but my…desire to show off my assets, if you will.

I the sweater made me look sophisticated, while at the same time the skirt and boots added a bit of mystery.

A tiny part of me hoped that Dumblemore was in his early thirties.

"Well," I said to Mystic, turning away from the mirror before I could add "vain" to my guilt-list, "let's go."

**Author's Note: **

It's an interim chapter, I know. It is necessary, however. Oh, by-the-by, I'm trying not to gag as I write about Mystic—I know she seems like the perfect child. I assure you, however, that though she comes off as a Mary Sue to the umpteenth degree, the story ain't about her! So, as for time, this story is taking place in the year after Harry's seventh year. Um…if you have any other questions, feel free to ask! Thanks for reading!

**Review Replies: **

Fly-away-free: Thank you so much for your exuberance in reviewing! I'm very flattered that you think so highly of my writing! As to the book you mentioned, no, I have not read it, though it sounds very interesting. I hope this chapter is up-to-par!

PixieGirl100: I'm honored to deserve such placement! ;b

TheDarkLadyOfRavenclaw: Thank you for sticking with this story! I'm glad that my comment brightened your day!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Dumble_d_ore**

A few hours later we stood at King's Cross station with me puzzling over Charlie's directions.

"Platform 9 ¾" I murmured to myself again, and looked confusedly from the obviously labeled "9" and "10."

I had already asked an attendant, and been laughed at.

I looked around desperately. Mystic was sitting quietly, but I knew that she wouldn't be able to stay still much longer—we had, after all, been there for an hour.

It was also really cold, and my jacket was buried deep in the suitcase at the bottom of the luggage cart.

It figures that _I_ would obey the whims of my three-year-old daughter and wear a sleeveless top in the middle of an English winter.

I unconsciously rubbed my arms, and again looked around for anything that might help me.

Without thinking, I honed into the conversation of a middle-aged woman and her teenage son.

"Mum, we're thirty minutes late!" The teenager complained.

"_Calm down,_ Ron. The train wouldn't just leave her there."

"Mum, Ginny's going to freak." the boy replied.

The two came into my direct vision, and I grew hopeful as they stopped next to the barrier between platforms nine and ten. There were no trains leaving either in the next hour, and the woman was talking about being late. Hmmmm…

My suspicions were further developed when the red-headed son prodded his mother, saying, "Can't you do something about the muggles? You know we can't go through with them just staring at us."

The older woman looked at me. She also had red hair, and her face seemed very kind and vaguely familiar.

I took a deep breath and pushed my luggage cart over to her.

"Excuse me," I articulated carefully. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, and I was wondering if, perhaps, you were trying to get to Platform 9 ¾?"

The woman's soft expression softened further. "Is it your first time, dear?"

"Um…yes?" I replied.

"We're picking up my daughter Ginny. She's home for winter holidays. I suppose you're here to pick up a student as well?" She didn't give me time to answer. "Well, it's not that difficult—just walk straight into the barrier."

I stared at her like she was insane.

She must have seen my incredulity. "Here, Ron, show her; it hasn't been but a year since _you_ had to do this annually." She nudged the reluctant teen, I suppose a graduate of the school, into action, and he lethargically trudged toward the wall and—right through it!

"Now you try dear, best to do it at a bit of a run." She smiled encouragingly at me, and I turned back to get Mystic and the luggage. I took a deep breath and began to jog toward the barrier, pushing the luggage cart with one hand, and my other clutching Mystic's, her tiny legs pumping to keep up with mine.

Suddenly we were clear, and I saw a new platform. The teen named Ron was hugging a red-haired girl with her back to me. When she pulled back, my breath hitched, for she looked _very_ similar to…

But I had promised myself I wasn't going to think about him today.

The rest of the platform was deserted, and I saw a man I guessed was the conductor, based on his attire, call out from one of the compartments, "Are they here, then, Ginny dear? I'll be heading back to Hogwarts, then. Happy Christmas."

The train began to pull away.

But I _had_ to get on it! The directions were very clear…

I picked Mystic up, ran, and leapt onto the slowly moving train. I looked back to see three red heads gaping at us and probably imagining that they had brought the downfall of Hogwarts by giving access to the school to two muggles.

_Well, one muggle_, I thought as I turned around and saw that Mystic had magicked our luggage onto the train with us.

A couple of hours later, the train slowed to a stop. Mystic was glued to the windows, having never experienced anything like the beautiful Scottish countryside we'd ridden through.

It was evening, quickly approaching night, and the oncoming darkness was intensified when the lights in the compartment went out.

I waited an extra fifteen minutes before detraining to ensure that the conductor would have left the station, which seemed to have been built only for this train. Charlie had written that we ought to try to avoid contact with any magical person until we had made contact with the headmaster—or Dumblemore, as he'd named him in the dream.

We got off the train, and fortunately the station was well-lit.

I pulled out the directions, and sat down on one of my suitcases to scrutinize them.

"You should see a big castle. Walk to it."

I looked around, and saw the ruins of a massive castle, but they were seriously _ruins_, as in no-way-in-hell-was-I-letting-my-daughter-near-all-of-the-potential-hazards-that-site-could-contain ruins.

I looked at Mystic, and wondered at her look of amazement, as she looked at the ruins.

"Mystic? What do you see?" I asked, thinking that this might be another one of those witch-things.

She looked at me and impulsively grabbed my hand.

I gasped as I saw a glorious castle where before I'd seen only ruins.

It was lit and friendly, and I began to walk towards it. I picked up my daughter, and turned around once to see our luggage floating along behind us.

I followed a path around a giant lake and towards the massive structure, which had me remembering every fairy tale that I'd ever loved.

It was a clear evening, and the myriad stars seemed only to add to the magic that so obviously abounded in this place.

I was shocked out of my pilgrimage by the voice of a man.

"Can I help you?" The voice was polite but firm, and I turned to see another kind face. It wasn't handsome, nor was it unpleasant. It was a comforting face, framed by slightly graying hair. The man was dressed in strange attire—kind of like a loose long jacket. He was gripping what I could only assume to be a wand in such a way that I could tell he wouldn't hesitate to take action if he thought I was a threat.

"I need to speak with Dumblemore." I said, mustering all of the command and purpose that I could into my voice.

His brow furrowed a bit, and he smiled a bit. "Do you mean Dumble_dore_? Do you have business with him?"

I nodded.

"Well, I'll take you right up to the castle, then." We began to walk. "I'm Remus Lupin—I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."

_Dark Arts_. I unconsciously held Mystic a bit tighter--to imagine that she was going to have to deal with _dark arts_. It reminded me that Charlie had spoken of some sort of civil war in the dream. I wondered if it was still going on. I knew that Remus was expecting my name in return, but I thought it might be prudent to withhold it.

You know, because I was definitely the master of prudence—following an unknown magical person to God-knew-where in the middle of the night and bringing my daughter along with me.

Anonymity was definitely going to help me. I rolled my eyes at my own sarcasm, but our guide didn't notice in the dark.

After a few moments of quiet walking, I could tell that he was uncomfortable with the silence.

"I was out patrolling…" He trailed off. A few minutes later, he tried again. "Is this your daughter?"

"Yes." I replied tersely.

Mystic smiled at him, and he smiled back.

By now we were closer to the castle, and I was even more awed by its sheer gargantuan size! Once inside, it was no longer the architecture that amazed me, but the examples of magic that could be found everywhere.

The suits of armor lining the walls would move and several paintings actually addressed me!

Remus acted as though this were commonplace, so I tried to act nonchalant.

Mystic's eyes grew wider and wider as we continued to walk through the castle, and I held her still yet tighter, unable to imagine her in this world when she so obviously belonged with me.

At last we came to a stop next to a stone gargoyle, and Remus whispered, "Pineapple Sherbet."

This sent me over the edge. Pineapple sherbet was _mine_—it was from _my_ world. Mine and Charlie's. And now _this_ was Charlie's world, and Mystic's, and I felt just as out of place as pineapple sherbet seemed in this magical castle.

We stepped onto a rotating stone staircase, and arrived in a grand office, full of instruments I couldn't begin to think of the uses for. Behind a huge, antique desk sat a wizened man (not even close to his thirties) who seemed to be dressed in some type of richly hued toga.

"Headmaster, I found this witch and her daughter wandering on campus. She insisted upon seeing you." Remus said.

_Huh._ I thought. _He thinks I'm a witch._ I looked behind me, and seeing our luggage still bobbing in the air behind us, I figured how he might have made such an assumption.

"Thank you, Remus." The headmaster said, having stood at our introduction.

Remus nodded and left the room.

There was a bit of an awkward silence, then Dumbledore asked us to please take a seat.

I put Mystic into one of the two comfy armchairs facing the Headmaster across his desk, and was relieved that the school didn't turn to ruins again at the breach of contact with my daughter.

We all took a seat, Mystic wide-eyed and looking about the room, me looking at the Headmaster, wondering what to say, and him looking back and forth between us, with a scrutinizing gaze.

"You could start with your name." He said kindly, seeming to guess my thoughts.

At once I felt completely safe. He reminded me of my grandfather, and I knew that Charlie was right in directing us to him for help.

"Um…I'm Gypsy and this is my daughter, Mystic." I said quickly.

"And I'm Albus Dumbledore, as you probably know. Now that the formalities are out of the way, would you like some tea?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"Um…would coffee be possible?" I looked at my daughter. "And maybe some chocolate milk?"

"Of course," he replied with a smile. With a flick of his wand, I was holding a steaming mug and Mystic held a lidded glass.

"Um…" I needed to stop beginning my sentences this way. "I…"

Even though I didn't feel like I had to hold anything back from this man, I didn't know where to begin in telling him everything. I realized that I had still been somewhat guarded in my introduction, despite the blatant fact that if Charlie had directed me to this man, he was obviously fighting on the side of good—if there was even a war still being waged.

I took a deep breath. "My name is Gypsy Weasley, and—"

I stopped as I heard him give a slight gasp. It surprised me, as this didn't seem a man to be easily ruffled.

"Weasley?" He asked.

I nodded, confused.

"Are you a Weasley by birth? Marriage?" He asked, leaning forward a bit in his chair, as though working on a particularly difficult algebra problem.

"Marriage." I replied. "Did you know my husband?" I asked in return.

He smiled. "There are many Weasleys, as you know, in our world, Gypsy. I'm afraid you'll have to clarify."

"Um…" Accursed nervous habit! "That's the thing. It's not my world. I'm a muggle. I was married to Charlie Weasley. He…um…told me in a dream to come to you. He didn't tell me when he was alive that he was a wizard." By the end of my statement I was almost whispering. Even to a wizard my story must sound completely ridiculous—no! _Especially_ to a wizard. I was uninvited, intruding into their world without asking permission and even going so far as to thinking I had a right to it.

Dumbledore got up and began to pace around. He stopped when he saw our still-hovering luggage. He raised his eyebrow.

"My daughter…" Yay! At least no 'um' this time. "She can…do things like that."

He looked appraisingly at Mystic. "Most witches and wizards of her age cannot focus their magic so acutely—rather, they display it at moments of necessity, mostly in large bursts."

My heart sank a bit. I had thought that there was a place for Mystic—that the strange occurrences that set her apart in the world we'd been in would be commonplace in this new one, but now I was being told that she didn't even fit into _this_ world.

"Charlie said that you might be able to tell me about…the nature of her powers. Maybe that implies that they're something…special?"

My speaking Charlie's name out loud seemed to change Dumbledore's train of thought again.

"Ms. Weasley, I pray that I heard you incorrectly, but is Charlie dead?" He asked, staring at me intensely with twinkle-less eyes.

I nodded. It didn't seem enough, so I spoke. "He was killed. He told me that he'd run away from a war here. He said the enemy found him."

"I'm so sorry." He was one of the first people who seemed to actually mean those words. "Have you met any of the his family?" He asked.

"Family?" I inquired, puzzled. "He said that he was an only child—an orphan." It hit me then that that had probably been a part of severing all connections with this world.

"I assure you that they exist--would you like to meet them?" He asked, glancing at Mystic as my thoughts dwelled on her.

I didn't even have to think. "Yes!" I said, perhaps a bit too eagerly for my age.

Mystic was smiling. I knew that she'd always wanted grandparents and aunts and uncles, but unfortunately, I was in a similar situation to Charlie's previously supposed one.

He smiled and his eyes twinkled insanely.

But, in a _good_ insane way.

"If you'll wait outside, Ms. Weasley, I'll call them in and explain the situation to them. I'm sure they'll be more than happy to meet you."

I picked Mystic up, and walked out the door, shutting it softly behind me, and standing on the stairs.

"Isn't this exciting, dear? You'll get grandparents, and maybe uncles and aunts—all special like you!" I blithered on for about fifteen minutes, smoothing my daughter's hair and dress to make her appear acceptable to her newfound family. At last Dumbledore cracked open the door and I breathed a sigh of relief at his smiling face.

"You can come in, now." He said. How the hell could eyes twinkle that damn much!

I walked in, holding Mystic's hand tightly, and saw a sea of red heads.

Time seemed to freeze. Before anyone could react to our entrance, I began to pick things out—there was Charlie's nose, his eyes, his smile, and his posture. I felt like I belonged with these people—no matter their strange abilities.

I realized right then that this change wouldn't only benefit Mystic—by discovering this new world, I was rediscovering my husband.

**Author's Note:**

Wowsers, but that was a long one! I've got finger cramps! Unfortunately, I'm leaving Thursday for a big family road trip of fun!

(attempt at exuberance fails miserably)

So, updates will be few and far between, as my relatives' internet connections come and go. In any case, I'm trying to get a lot of chappies up for ya'll in the meanwhile, so I hope they don't lose their polish! Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it!

**Review Replies:**

Fly-Away-Free: Thank you so much for your faithful reviewing! I'm sorry to say that Harry doesn't really play a romantic role, as Gypsy's about 8 years his senior, and I don't really have a Demi-Ashton plot in mind for this story (sorta freaks me out a bit, actually!), but there _will_ be romance, because I am a disgusting, incurable romantic. Thanks again for giving your time to review!

PixieGirl100: I'm glad that you could picture Mystic well—I always have trouble describing characters when I'm writing in first person! Thanks again for reviewing, and I'll have you know that some of my more brilliant thoughts have been exposed to me through a good bit of babbling!

TheDarkLadyOfRavenclaw: Thank you _so_ much for sticking with this story! I love seeing reviews of people who're watching the story progress. I too have a sister, who often thinks me insane when I laugh out loud at stories. I'm glad that my story is one that has bolstered your reputation of insanity! ;b

PreciousOne: Thank you, and I hope this met your standards!

Gboyary: Oh dear! Your review scared me quite a bit—the whole, "now that's annoying," introduction may have stopped my heart for a second! But I'm honored that you think so highly of my story. Thank you for reading and taking the extra time to review!

Angelina Johnson: Yay! Fowler, you read! I'm glad I gave you something more productive than religion to focus on! Times like these when I'm glad I suffered through two semesters of Deskins this year! Muahahahhaha!


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